


Every Morning Now

by twobirdsonesong



Category: CrissColfer - Fandom, Glee RPF
Genre: Complicated Relationships, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 19:21:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9086599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twobirdsonesong/pseuds/twobirdsonesong
Summary: I dunno I was cold this morning.





	

The quilt Darren finally wakes up under is almost too heavy, thick fabric weighing him down, holding him to the mattress. Every inch of him enveloped in heat, Darren struggles, seeking the relief of cooler air.

 

When he gets his hands free Darren finds his glasses on the nightstand. His watch is there too, next to his phone, but he doesn’t remember taking it off. The world shifts into focus and Darren blinks at Chris sitting in the old chair by the window, half in shadows, half in icy grey light.

 

Outside light snow falls.

 

“Dramatic,” Darren croaks. His mouth is dry, his throat parched.

 

“You shouldn’t be here.”

 

The words aren’t a surprise. “I know. I’m sorry.” Darren sits up, shivers as the quilt falls away.

 

“It upsets them,” Chris continues, voice quiet. “When you show up like this.” He hasn’t moved at all and Darren feels vulnerable in his t-shirt and underwear. His pants must be somewhere in the room, but he doesn’t remember taking them off either. He doesn’t know how exhausted he was.

 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t--”

 

“How’d you even get here?” Chris is wearing pajamas, flannel pants too big for him and a long-sleeved shirt Darren might have bought for him once upon a time.

 

“Drove, obviously.”

 

Chris hmms noncommittally and continues to stare at Darren from the chair by the window, considering him. Snow has gathered outside on the windowsill, a few flakes melting against the glass. Darren doesn’t know if it’s ever snowed here before.

 

“What room am I in?” Darren asks. There’s nothing familiar on the walls, just some generic artwork that could have been purchased from anywhere. He could be in a hotel room, but he knows he’s not.

 

“Guest room.”

 

“Oh. So they’re really mad.”

 

Chris shrugs. He’s got a bit of scruff on his chin, his hair unbrushed. He’s wearing a pair of glasses Darren is sure he picked out. Darren isn’t completely convinced it’s actually morning despite the time on the clock. The grey light washes away time.

 

“You didn’t say you were coming this year,” Chris says. “And you know what a year it’s been. You hadn’t decided. They weren’t expecting you. I wasn’t.”

 

Darren hadn’t expected it either. They’d had other plans, he and Chris, for New Year’s, hopefully. But the hour had ticked ever closer to Christmas and he’d gotten into his car without much more than a hastily packed duffle bag.

 

“I didn’t want you to tell me not to come,” he admits.

 

“I wouldn’t have.” It’s a lie, but a small one, a kind one. Darren allows it. There are bigger fictions.

 

“Is everyone okay?” Darren asks.

 

“Okay enough.”

 

“Are you mad at me?”

 

Chris is quiet for a long moment. Outside the snow has stopped already, turned to rain that will surely soon become sun. “Last night I knew what to say. But you weren’t there to hear it.”

 

Darren swallows. “Are more people coming today? Family?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Do you want me to go?”

 

Chris blinks, stares out of the window at the lightening sky. Darren’s never been good enough at knowing what Chris is thinking. To his discomfort and relief.

 

“I’d rather you were here,” Chris says and Darren sighs.

 

“Is it time to get up then? Make amends?”

 

Chris glances at the clock, shakes his head. “Not yet.”

 

Darren shoves the covers back, shivers at the rush of cool air. “So are you going to get into this bed with me or not?”

 

Chris narrows is his eyes, but can’t completely hide the smile that begins in the corners of his mouth. He’s slow to get out of the chair, slower still to slide into the bed. Darren settles back down, head finding the pillow, waits with baited breath for Chris. Inch by careful inch Chris edges closer until he’s flush against Darren, flannel pajama pants against Darren’s naked leg, the solid weight of him against Darren’s hip, his bare fingertips finding Darren’s jaw. Darren shivers and sighs, pulls the quilt up around them both.

 

“Don’t let me sleep through breakfast,” Darren whispers, closes his eyes, waits for Chris to kiss him first.

 

“You’re making breakfast,” Chris says and his mouth is soft against Darren’s, warm and slow.

 

“Okay.”


End file.
